


The Way into the City of Woe

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abortion, Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angry Sam, Confused Dean, M/M, Omega Dean, Possessive Sam Winchester, Protective Sam, Sam-Centric, Scared Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smooth, how they always appear, like angels.</p><p>Wherein Sam makes a deal of his own.</p><p>Sam POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way into the City of Woe

**Author's Note:**

> Dante Alighieri is my spirit animal, and therefore this title comes from his work. 
> 
> Dedicated to Rochey, because even though I've had this written for some time now, you always have a sense of where my depraved mind is headed next.
> 
> (Also, I'm an idiot and forgot to warn for triggering elements below. See tags).

Sam’s got a pretty steady hand, even at the worst of times. His hands were so certain, one year, his entire basketball team nicknamed him “The Surgeon.”

_The Surgeon’s breaking ankles out there. Doesn’t even let ‘em recover._

Slice and Dice.

His fade-away’s were the stuff of legends, and he ended up plowing, quite literally, his way through the entire cheerleading squad at McEachern High School. That was a feat almost more impressive than his consistent threes, because that was the largest school in Cobb County at the time.

Georgia had been abounding with fresh-faced betas and ‘megas, most newly declared. Sweet-spicy scents and floral ones, a veritable smorgasbord for Alphas, desperate to knot anything tight, wet and squealing. Sam remembers pushing his way into them, big hands gripping slim waists, callused fingers wrapping long blond hair around his wrist.

Jerking necks back as he fucked from behind. Biggest Alpha they’d let take them, sometimes, their first.

Sam’s not proud of that.

Not pleased with the hard and fast line he employed, wiping up cum with pleated skirts, reveling in the fact that they’d smell like him no matter how much they tried to disguise it. Forcing possession.

His favorite pastime.

He decimated that school, when he finally left, when Dean’s smiles of victory by association at Sam’s conquests delved into concern.

_Sammy boy, I’m all for fucking and ducking, when need be, but don’t you think--_

_What, Dean?_ Laser-focused eyes, slow smirk crossing his features

_Don’t you think you should cool it, man? I ain’t smelled the same bitch twice!_

Sam left everyone in tatters. Slashed academic records, took his test grades to his next placement and surpassed those, too.

Relieved fathers of daughters virginity.

Becca Rogers, slumped on their temporary doorstep, 453 Privette Lane, pretty black hair twisted in a knot on top of her head, light brown eyes swollen with fat tears. Smelled like debasement and bewilderment, mint and tangy, Alpha nose recoiling from the scent. Thin arms reaching up to him,

_Sam, Sam, I can scent them_

And Sam, kissing-close to seventeen, two months from graduation.

_I’m moving, Becks. Can’t keep ‘em._

Mangled his heart, inside, to see what his words did to her, pretty face all twisted, hands drooping listlessly, curled protectively around her young. Tear-stained eyes imploring him, residual scent of passion and fear. Sam can’t look, any longer. Goes with her to have it done.

He’s the worst kind of bastard, vicious animal, Alpha within him reigned in, snarling on a chain link fence-- _where the fuck are my pups_

But it’s not unmanageable. His Alpha knows they aren’t mate-pups, but he’s claimed them, all the same. The clinic offers Sam the opportunity to be locked in the seclusion room for the duration of the procedure. Becca’s clinging to his hand, oversized blue t-shirt hanging on exposed bones.

_I’ll be fine. I wanna be there, with her._

Becca, so thankful, sharp little teeth white, and Sam’s never wanted to love someone so much. The nurse looks at him, dismal, clipboard held tight to her chest, small-framed beta, milk chocolate skin.

 _I know you think you’ll be good. But you won’t. Alphas never are._ She pauses, sighing, this speech habitual for her. _You’ll scare her. You’re gonna want to be locked away._

Becca’s clutching on for dear life, sooty lashes clumping with tears, when the hell did she start crying--but she nods, vigorous little thing. Hums low in her throat and releases Sam’s hand.

_It’s okay. I’ll see you after._

It’s good, in the end, that Sam’s in the padded room, four, white, square walls. Because he hadn’t realized that Alpha was biding his time, locked into submission. Cause Sam knows the instant his pups stop breathing, can scent fear-smell from Becca and the tiny evaporation of the small life.

Just one.

Alpha becomes monster, then.

Sam’s entirely shifted before he can blink, hasn’t shifted fully since he was thirteen, and he and Dean thought that changing forms might help with his growing pains. He’s howling, top of his lungs, russet brown fur standing on end, giant wolf almost taking up the whole room. Alpha’s ripping Sam’s lungs from his body, possessed beast, incisors ripping at his own fur.

Sam regains himself, eventually, knits marrow and flesh back together, clothes irreparably damaged. The door opens a crack, blue hospital scrubs slide in. Sam dons them soundlessly, Alpha won’t come out. He’s hiding from Sam, and he’s never been separated from him before.

Sam carries Becca to her truck, tucks her in the passenger seat, drives her home. She smells synthetic, hint of foreign Alpha. He can scent the death clinging to her, and it smells like melted snow and rust.

Like ash.

Runs four miles that evening, looks for Alpha all night. He's soundless, sightless, and he’s left Sam all alone.

Sam nips his incisors across his wrist then, one smooth slash, and allows his own blood to sprinkle around the center of the Devil’s Trap. His wound stitches itself up neatly and Sam stands back, breathing thick in the night air. He’s already buried the box, come across the bone of black cat in a suspect manner, acquired graveyard dirt more honorably.

He finishes the last sigil, hand unwavering, and blinks at the silky sweet voice emanating from within the Trap.

Smooth, how they always appear, like angels.

“Heya, Sammy!” She cries indulgently, crimson eyes and wicked curves, soft tendrils of brown hair tickling her flushed cheeks. Sam doesn’t have it in him to be vicious, his Alpha is subdued, because his Alpha remembers fear.

It is Sam, here.

Serpentine smile, all tight lips and teeth, she winks in his direction. “Baby Winchester. Didn’t they tell you?” Her voice is warm and oily, polite. “Big brother’s gonna be hanging out downstairs real soon, and it’d go better for you if you didn’t make such a fuss about it.” She presses a manicured hand against her skin-tight black dress.

“You can’t stop it, Sam. Might as well get used to the idea.”

Sam shakes his head in her direction.

She’s gone and done it. He’s awake now.

“Look, bitch,” he begins conversationally, world-weary, one hand resting on the blade in his pocket. He stretches his shoulder as he speaks, and it pops, loud crack echoing in the black.

“I’m not asking for a way out.”

_he is, God, he is_

“I just need a little more time.” She laughs, bright, pretty laugh for something so rotten. “Baby. And give you more time to figure your way outta this mess your brother put himself in? She says. “I don’t think so.”

Sam’s in the trap next to her so quickly that her head snaps back, and it’s quickly pulled upright under Sam’s broad palm. “You listen to me you hellspawn. I’ll keep summoning you, and keep killing you and all your damned friends if you don’t give me this.”

She’s smiling up at him, eerie red eyes pointed directly at his face. “And if I refuse? As much as this deal clearly benefits me…”

Sam wraps fingers around her slim neck, chokes until her human body wilts, unable to form words. “I’ll kill until you won’t answer my calls anymore. Then I’ll have other people summon you for me, and I’ll kill you that way, too.”

The she-bitch is clawing at his hand, begging wordlessly for him to reduce the pressure. Alpha is snarling now, hot blooded and savage, and she’s made an error in calculation. Demons are sexless, only dark beings in their creation and evolution. They cannot fathom what it means to be male or female, Alpha, Omega or Beta.

If they did, they’d know that Sam’s already home to a demon.

She-bitch is released, and she topples from Sam’s death grip and lands on her side, vessel panting, glaring up at him. “It won’t work. You won’t get what you want.” Sam’s smiling, chilled blood, heartless imitation of glee. Feels like knives are permanently staked in his head, and it’s such a relief to just _be_.

Sam exits the circle, takes his jacket off and casually rolls up the sleeves of his red and black flannel. He’s pleased at the color choice, smiles wanly at the correlation.

“Eventually,” he continues, ignoring her jibe, “someone’ll get tired of my bloodbath. Someone bigger than you will come out to play.”

Sam re-enters the trap, drops down lithely to his knees and curls warm fingers around her unnaturally cold cheek. Her hair is in disarray, fallen from the carefully arranged bun on her head, neck red and black, bruises painting a picture of Sam’s rage.

Sam sets the tip of his blade against her cheek, shallow cut, blood pooling gently as it begins to heal, vessel’s a beta, he sniffs.

“And I think,” he whispers, eyes easing towards dusk, bronze specks sparkling against olive skin. “They’ll meet me sooner than later. I’m Sam Winchester, after all.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> First Sam present day POV, and of course, I've made it into this. Tell me if you liked it!


End file.
